


His Place

by Python07



Series: If Looks Could Kill [18]
Category: Forever (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Crack Crossover, Flashback, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:53:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: Richelieu checks on Treville.





	

Richelieu could picture the musketeers’ horror if they knew how easy it was for him to sneak into their garrison. They may have all been tired from being on high alert since Treville’s injury, but that wasn’t an excuse. He found a dark corner to melt into, where he had a view of Treville’s quarters.

It grew later and quieter. The silence was thick and the darkness was comforting. The moon was full and the light was soft. 

He watched most of the musketeers trudge into the barracks to sleep. He watched Lemay finally leave. He watched Porthos relieve an exhausted d’Artagnan sitting outside the door.

Despite his anxiety, he was still and patient. Idly, he wondered if he’d always had that bountiful patience or if all of his years gave it to him. He couldn’t remember and it really didn’t matter. He refocused on Porthos. He wasn’t tired, but Porthos appeared to be. 

Porthos’ head bobbed up and down as he tried to stay awake. Porthos jerked and looked around. He tried to sit up straight, but slumped back into his seat. His chin fell down to his chest and stayed there.

Richelieu quickly crossed the practice yard, a hooded dark moving shadow. He barely made a sound. He passed inches by the softly snoring Porthos but the musketeer didn’t even twitch.

He slipped into Treville’s quarters and locked the door behind him. He put his hood down and looked around. The moonlight was just enough for him to see Treville lying in bed. The hitch in Treville’s pained breathing was the only sound.

He didn’t hesitate to softly cross the room to Treville’s side. He stood still, gazing down at him. He did hesitate to touch.

White bandages crossed over Treville’s chest and under his arm. Even in the moonlight, his skin was pale. The pain lines on his face were visible even as he slept. 

Richelieu knelt beside the bed. He didn’t take his eyes off Treville. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Treville so small and vulnerable. A pit of ugly emotions swirled in his stomach: guilt, rage, and longing. The anger was an itch under his skin and a poison in his blood.

He squeezed his eyes closed and ruthlessly shoved the anger aside. Later. He would deal with it later. 

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He hesitated for only a split second more before he took Treville’s hand. He felt Treville’s pulse. It was strong and some of the tension in his shoulders bled out. 

He kissed Treville’s palm. Then he moved on to Treville’s fingers. The touch was light and reverent and they barely twitched.

Richelieu squeezed the hand and put it back down at Treville’s side. He watched Treville’s chest raise and fall. He watched Treville’s face.

Another emotion joined the maelstrom in his gut. He wasn’t accustomed to that dreaded feeling of helplessness. He couldn’t heal Treville. He couldn’t stave off infection if it set in. He couldn’t guarantee Treville’s recovery.

Even if he could, it wouldn’t be his place, not anymore. He was no longer what Treville wanted or needed. He was dead and it was time for another start. He couldn’t forget that.

Suddenly, the room was ten times smaller. He pushed to his feet. “I don’t belong here,” he whispered.

Before he could think better of it, he leaned over Treville. He gently cupped the side of Treville’s face and brushed his thumb across Treville’s temple. He placed a light kiss on Treville’s forehead. “Concentrate on your recovery. Rochefort will be dealt with. That will be my last gift to you.”

Treville whimpered and unconsciously turned into his touch. “Armand,” he breathed, barely audible.

A wave of fierce longing clashed with the need to flee and Richelieu froze in indecision. 

Treville whimpered again. He shifted uncomfortably. His hands twitched in an aborted attempt to reach out.

Richelieu cursed his own weakness even as he eased into bed next to Treville. He sat up, propped against a pillow. He gently pulled Treville into his arms and let Treville rest against him, back to chest. He kissed the side of Treville’s head. “Shh, Jean. It’s all right.”

Treville sighed and relaxed again completely. He turned his face into the crook of Richelieu’s neck.

Richelieu kept one arm around Treville. His free hand rested on the back of Treville’s neck. He put his head back and closed his eyes.

He enjoyed the feeling of Treville in his arms. He enjoyed the close intimacy. He enjoyed Treville’s warm breath ghosting across the side of his neck. He didn’t sleep, but he let himself drift. 

The smell of sex was heavy in the air. The adrenaline was still singing in his veins as he came down from his high. He was sprawled on his back, eyes closed and chest heaving. Treville was lying on his chest, equally hot, slick, and bare.

They lay in companionable silence as their breathing returned to normal. Neither of them cared about the sweaty mess between them. Neither made a move to rise, to get dressed and part.

Richelieu’s limbs were pleasantly heavy. He kept his eyes closed, simply content to feel Treville pressed against him. He was smiling and he didn’t care.

“I should go.” Treville let out a contented sighed into Richelieu’s neck. He didn’t move.

Richelieu rubbed a light hand up and down Treville’s spine. “You should,” he agreed, but made no move to dislodge Treville. 

Treville traced patterns on Richelieu’s skin. “Yes.”

Richelieu’s hand slid into Treville’s hair. “Yes.”

Treville sighed again. He let his hand rest on Richelieu’s chest, over his heart. He nuzzled the side of Richelieu’s neck. “Although,” he murmured. “I have no pressing duties in the morning.”

Richelieu gasped softly. “For a wonder, neither do I.” He flexed his fingers in Treville’s hair and Treville purred against his skin. “Stay.”

Maybe it was the darkness. Maybe it was the fact that they were both sated and comfortable. Maybe it was that discussion that this was the first time that either of them had asked the other to spend the night wasn’t needed.

“Okay.” 

Richelieu didn’t have to look at Treville to hear the warmth in Treville’s voice. He kissed the side of Treville’s head. “Okay.”

Treville moved just enough that all his weight wasn’t on Richelieu. He settled with his head on Richelieu’s shoulder. He kept an arm across Richelieu’s chest and put a leg between his.

A horse neighing brought Richelieu back to the present. He blinked. He took a moment to let his surroundings sink in again.

Early morning light came in through the small window. Most of the candles had burned out. A few voices filtered in, but it was still a sleepy atmosphere.

Treville was a warm, heavy weight against him. Treville slept on, soundly and contently, as if there was no place he’d rather be. 

Richelieu inhaled deeply. He let the breath out slowly. He ran a gentle hand down Treville’s side and started to ease out from under him.

Treville murmured softly in protest. He clutched at Richelieu weakly. He didn’t wake.

Richelieu settled Treville with a hand on the side of his neck. He caressed Treville’s jaw and gave him a soft, quick kiss. “Goodbye, Jean.”

Richelieu turned to go, ignoring the way Treville buried his face in the pillow he’d been resting on.


End file.
